The following evening, the tattoo high on Darius right arm disappeared from sight as he pulled a long-sleeved shirt over it. The tattoo was of a muscle car with the words Black Knight curved over it in stylized lettering, small drops of red dripping off the K and the second and third B.
He never let anyone see it, not even the women he slept with, making sure that it was either dark in the room or that he didn’t take off his shirt. Even when dressed at his most casual, he chose T-shirts with sleeves of the necessary length.
When he was eighteen, Sally had suggested that he could get the tattoo removed. But he needed to leave it as a reminder of where he’d come from. And of who he really was. No matter how much Darius changed on the outside, how many people he helped, or how much money he made—he knew he would always be his father’s son.
A father who was a liar, a thief, and a bully. You’re a chip right off the old block, was what Donovan Spencer had told him many, many times. And even though Darius hadn’t seen his father in more than twenty years, he never wanted to forget that his blood ran dirty—didn’t want to think he could ever turn cocky and let his guard drop just because he hadn’t screwed up for two decades.
He’d easily need a lifetime to make up for the liar and thief he’d been. And yet, sometimes his need for that rush was just so damned strong...
Darius had never put anyone in the hospital the way the teen who’d crashed into Zion had, but he’d still hurt a hell of a lot of people when he was younger, people who hadn’t deserved to have their cars stolen or their kids’ lives turned upside down by being dragged into a gang by a punk like Darius. He’d hotwired stolen cars, drag-raced, fought hard, drunk hard.
And that had been after his father had gone to prison and Darius had moved in with Hector’s parents. At the time, Sally had been a couple of years younger than Darius was now, but she’d started going gray because of him. And George, the same age as Sally, had lost what little hair he’d had. Without Sally and George and the Baddricks, Darius would have remained his father’s son for the rest of his life, still living in that dirty, neglected Beverly Hills neighborhood.
Darius wasn’t proud of the kid he’d been. And he definitely wasn’t proud that it had taken him so long to change. Way too long. And way too late. He tucked the shirt into his dark jeans and buckled his belt, thinking about the pact he’d made with the other Baddricks. The day they’d made that pact was the day he finally understood he’d found his true family in the Baddricks, never the Black Knight. He, Hector, and Argus were eighteen, almost out of high school. Ares and Perseus had another year to go, but they were all ready to turn their backs on Beverly Hills and everything in it, except Sally and George.
They’d sworn to get out, to make it big. They’d come from hell, aimed for a heaven gilded in gold, iced with diamonds and pearls, and they’d done it, all of them. If it weren’t for the fact that Sally and George refused to leave their hometown, Darius would never go back there. Thank God Hector had at least convinced his parents to move to a decent suburb and accept a house the five of them could well afford to buy for the couple.
Yesterday, Nathalie had seen the entrepreneur, the businessman, the cars, the house, the money. She hadn’t seen the Black Knight, and he planned to keep it that way. He was glad that she’d told him her story and he hoped to learn even more about her tonight. But he knew with utter certainty that his story wasn’t one he should ever tell her.
Not if he wanted her to stick around with him for even a little while. And though he’d only spent a couple of hours with her, he already knew he wanted her to stick around a hell of a lot longer than that.
* * *
What was she supposed to wear to dinner with a billionaire? Dressed only in panties and bra, Nathalie stared into her meager closet. A pile of discarded clothing lay on the bed—jeans, shirts, a couple of dresses. Nothing seemed right, certainly not any of her staid work clothes. She had one serviceable cocktail dress, but Darius had been just as mysterious about where he was taking her as he was about everything else.
For all she knew, he had something outrageous planned, like a hot air balloon ride in Napa, or a flight to Lake Imelda in his private jet for an intimate dinner in an exclusive casino restaurant. Didn’t rich men on TV always do things like that to show off on first dates?
Zion banged on her door. He did everything exuberantly, which she usually loved. Tonight, however, the loud pounding was reverberating a little too loudly through her brain.
“Nathalie, he’ll be here soon. Aren’t you ready yet?”
She was showered, her hair washed, and her makeup done. She just had to decide on her outfit—hopefully before the next century rolled around.
“I’ll be out in a minute.”
Zion had talked nonstop about Darius since yesterday. His cars, his garage, his tools, how nice he was. And secretly, she had to admit she’d been just as thrilled about how attentive Darius had been to her. She didn’t scold herself for that, though. After all, what normal woman wouldn’t be affected by his attention?
Speeding beside him in the car, with the wind whipping her hair all around, had made her feel wild. And free. More free than she’d been in a very long time. For so long she’d been so careful, but Darius had aimed right at the heart of all her secret desires, and in the end she’d been helpless to turn down dinner with him.
Just one night to pretend that she was a normal woman, with a normal life. Surely, taking her eye off the ball for one short dinner couldn’t hurt anything, could it?
Zion banged on the door again.
“Are you ready?”
She closed her eyes and stuck her hand in the closet, grabbing a hanger. Whatever it was, that’s what she’d wear. It turned out to be a flowing, brightly floral skirt that hit her at mid calf. Maybe just a little too sweet, so she paired it with a form-fitting cream-colored sweater and a pair of heels.
At long last, she picked up her purse from the dresser and opened her bedroom door.
“Yes, I’m ready now.”
“Wow, you look really pretty!” Zion said, which told her she must have chosen well, since he rarely commented on her outfits. Then again, she rarely ever dressed up, since it was always just the two of them.
“Thank you,” she said, but he was already running off to get a snack from the kitchen.
They lived in a three-bedroom, two-bath house, plenty for her and Zion. Rather than waste the formal dining space, she’d converted it to her home office. They never used her mother’s untouched living room, though, preferring the den.
Their family room was open to the kitchen, with a bar and stools in between that they could use for meals. More often than not, they ate in front of the TV, mostly because she had trouble keeping the bar clean of the junk mail and completed homework assignments that accumulated there.
The TV was tuned to one of Zion’s favorite car channels. A coloring book lay on the coffee table, surrounded by a huge box of crayons, from which he’d removed almost every one.
He’d been working on an orange rooster. Coloring was an exercise assigned by his teacher, Miss Watsons, to help his dexterity, though he often had trouble staying within the lines.
Nathalie eyed the two baskets of laundry plopped at one end of the sofa. She’d have to get to those sooner or later. Glancing at her watch, she decided there wasn’t time now to do the hated task.
The doorbell chimed, and she actually jumped. Okay, maybe she was a little nervous. After all, it had been over a year since she’d gone out with a man. Darius Spencer wasn’t just any man, was he?
“It’s Darius!” Zion raced to the front door.
Nathalie grabbed her jacket off a chair, then scooped a few things off the hall table and into the drawer as she passed. When Zion opened the door, Darius immediately took her breath away. His white button-down shirt was open at the collar, revealing a dusting of hair climbing up from his chest, and he should have been a jeans model, they looked so great on him. Zion was dancing around him on the front stoop.
“She took forever to get ready, Darius. I had to keep pounding on the door.”
Nathalie closed her eyes briefly in mortification.
“That’s a woman’s prerogative,” Darius said with a smile she saw once she braved opening her eyes again.
“Well, I’m ready now,” she said brightly.
“Not just ready, Nathalie,” Darius said in that low voice that sent tingles coursing through her, head to toe.
“Gorgeous.”
He held out his hand and she let his warm fingers close around hers, palms resting together. It felt good. Too good. But she simply couldn’t make herself pull away. Not when it felt like there hadn’t been nearly enough good things in her life...and certainly nothing this good.
“I’ll have her back home safe and sound, Zion, don’t you worry.”
“I wasn’t worried,” Zion said with all seriousness.
“She gets to stay out as long as she wants because she’s an adult.”
“Tanya will be here in half an hour,” Nathalie reminded Zion.
She didn’t mind his being alone for half an hour, but certainly not a whole evening. Number one, Zion didn’t like the dark. And two, though she’d trained him to use 911, she wasn’t confident about his reaction time. Nathalie always had Tanya, their neighbor’s college-age daughter, come in for a few hours if she was going to be late.
“I know, Nathalie.” Her brother gave an exaggerated wave as Darius led her down the front path.
She’d expected a muscle car like the Chevrolet Camaro. Even an expensive Lamborghini or a Bugatti Veyron. But he held open the door of a Mercedez Benz for her. Nothing flashy or showy, though it was elegant and luxurious. He helped her with a hand to her elbow, and she felt his heat through her jacket.
She couldn’t remember ever being this aware of a man—the true-blue color of his eyes and the thickness of his black hair, wondering how soft it would be against her fingers. As he closed her door and walked around to the driver’s side, she firmly reminded herself that she needed to maintain dignity and control tonight.
Because something told her that Darius Spencer not only had plenty of practice in sweeping a girl off her feet and making her feel completely breathless, but for some reason she couldn’t understand, he was planning on putting those skills to use tonight. With her.